Change of Vector: Delta 2
by cofax
Summary: Chance favors those who approach empty-handed. Sequel to "Change of Vector".


Title: Change of Vector: Delta 2  
Author: cofax   
Email: cofax7@yahoo.com   
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Through TWWW   
Disclaimer: not mine, never will be.   
Distribution: Just let me know where.  
Summary: Chance favors those who approach empty-handed. Set during "Family   
Ties".   
Notes: A thematic sequel to "A Change of Vector", archived at   
http://cofax.freeservers.com/stories/vector.html. Feedback makes me do the   
wacky: send it to cofax7@yahoo.com  
  
  
***  
  
Change of Vector: Delta 2  
by cofax   
December 2001  
  
  
  
*They say on Fellishan that Shirkata is the mistress of chance and chaos. Her   
blade is sharp: on one side is certain death; on the other the living-death life   
of the complacent and the fool. But for the man who dares to walk the sharp edge   
of the dagger, risking all in the endeavor, she promises -- nothing. Shirkata   
makes no promises, save that such life as he achieves will be interesting and   
full of possibility. But he must approach her empty-handed.*  
  
  
  
The transport pod was cold and quiet, and the Hynerian was a better pilot than   
Crais would have expected. They had not spoken since the hatch had closed behind   
them and the Hynerian had brought them out of the carrier's shadow. One barrier   
had been crossed; the next would be harder.  
  
He had had to destroy the research data, of course. Years of research, thousands   
of files, dozens of trials and failures. Much of the research was archived at   
High Command, out of his immediate reach. But Bialar Crais had not achieved the   
rank of Captain without learning something of a tech's skills -- he could never   
afford that level of arrogance. By the time High Command thought to look for it,   
the data on his Leviathan hybridization project would be gone.   
  
Scorpius had been remarkably amenable to his proposal to accompany the Hynerian   
back to the Leviathan. It was possible the half-breed suspected something, but   
for his own purposes was allowing the plan to progress. Regardless, Crais did   
not expect Scorpius to wait very long before reporting him irretrievably lost.  
  
He cast a distasteful glance at his traveling companion. Hynerians did not   
constitute unclassified aliens for the purposes of contamination. But Crais had   
always loathed them, ever since his first campaign, for their arrogance, their   
smell, their unfettered breeding. The response of the deposed Dominar to the   
display of his trophies had been . . . gratifying. It was possible, Crais   
considered now, that he might have to suppress that revulsion, if this scheme   
were to succeed.  
  
Dominar Rygel had not been convinced of Crais' good intentions -- but he did not   
need to be, if he believed Crais could be useful. The Hynerian had acquired no   
mean reputation among his jailers for his negotiating skills and political   
pragmatism. He would do the work of convincing the others -- they would believe   
Rygel before they believed Crais.  
  
The pod had long since cleared the carrier's range, and now entered the asteroid   
field. Their speed dropped, as the Hynerian uneasily navigated his way through,   
skirting past tumbling asteroids and dozens of smaller stones, spiraling deeper   
and deeper into the maze. Crais couldn't tell how much of this was necessary to   
find their way and how much was an attempt to evade any potential Peacekeeper   
tracking. After more than an arn of increasingly ornate maneuvering, they burst   
out into a large semispherical opening, and approached the Leviathan from the   
rear. Clinging close beneath Moya's golden bulk was a smaller form; Crais could   
not see it clearly from the pod's windows as they approached the hangar doors,   
but he saw enough to know it was no color ever seen on a Leviathan. The gunship.   
  
Crais shifted in his seat and adjusted his coat. He had come away with nothing,   
not even a change of clothing. There was nothing he needed to keep except the   
holochip of Tauvo in his pocket. In his favorite image, Tauvo was caught mid-  
step, smiling broadly at someone out of sight, his hands full of raslak glasses.   
That had been the night Tauvo earned his commission. "One for you, one for me,   
and one for Shirkata -- we're walking the blade, Bialar!"   
  
They had lost everything in becoming Peacekeepers: home, family, native tongue.   
Tauvo had sworn it worth the price. But seven cycles later, Tauvo was dead.   
Killed by the man Crais was going to meet in a quarter-arn. The man he had sworn   
to kill: the man Scorpius insisted be taken alive.  
  
However satisfying it would be to kill Crichton, Crais had realized the act   
would also doom him. There could be no victory against Scorpius; High Command   
was far more interested in the wormhole project than it was in his own failed   
experiments. He could have chosen to submit to the half-breed, try to salvage   
something of his position, preserve his life -- if nothing else. His gut had   
churned at the thought; there were few places for a deposed Captain in the   
service.  
  
Or he could seize the chance the Hynerian's presence offered. Get to Moya, say   
whatever the prisoners would believe to keep himself alive, make his way to the   
infant Leviathan -- child of his work, however delayed by Velorek's   
interference. His property: his gunship. Shirkata's promise, extended at the tip   
of the knife.  
  
But to seize the chance he had to give it all up, everything he held. Sacrifice   
his position; deny his honor.  
  
Forswear his vengeance.   
  
The transport pod touched down in the hangar bay; they waited long minutes while   
the bay repressurized, and then the Hynerian opened the hatch. Crais stepped   
back, letting him leave first, and the Hynerian headed through the door to the   
maintenance bay, braying his loyalty to his shipmates. Fools that they were, to   
trust the animal.   
  
Crais would not be a fool. Tauvo was gone -- nothing would change that. He would   
take the risk, swallow his rage, use whatever he had to. The hybrid ship would   
be his.   
  
He would walk the blade.  
  
***   
  
End  
  
Notes: Many thanks to Huzzlewhat, Melymbrosia, and Vehemently for beta and   
brainstorming.   
  
***  
I'm the darkness in your daughter  
I'm the spot beneath the skin   
I'm the scarlet on the pavement  
I am the broken heart within   
  
--- Yes Virginia I am ---   
http://cofax.freeservers.com 


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